You better believe it, brother

Now we’re cooking with gas

Not that we had no fire before

The self-starting Spirit clicked us into flames

But we smoked and sputtered

And blackened pots

And were subject to damp moodiness

When our wood was wet.

Now tightly ringed

Like a queen’s crown

The color of her shawl

So quickly lit

We’ve never been this close

This hot

This intensely tongued

Every kettle within our reach

Boils to life

And sings

Believe it, sister

We’re hooked up

Piped in

We got amenities

Now we’re cooking with gas

You can kiss those dirty days of coal

Good-bye

Listen! Hear the Spirit

Hissing?

That’s how our tomorrow sounds.